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Comment by Brian Allossery on March 24, 2012 at 4:39am

Poetry- schmoetry-

Money I owe a tree-

Life I owe a tree-

For giving oxygen to me-

Life is a treat- always so sweet

Unless the bills 

Fall at my feet-

And I have no money to pay so poetry takes me away-

Comment by jack on January 13, 2012 at 7:39pm
Comment by jack on January 13, 2012 at 7:38pm
Comment by Michael Darrell Walker on May 13, 2011 at 8:21pm
Truth’s Treasure
by Michaelw1two

Subtle hums my thoughts this eve,
waisted pen by fireside flame;
humilities flow from heart to soul,
yet to my hand disclaim;
recapture fleeting images,
in consciousness creativity rename;
innocence lost to self desires,
exposed is one’s ill fame.

Thinking closely to my vest,
weary arm cross mantle laid;
clearly voiced compassion's course,
yet truth remains quite staid;
avoids in self a rush to choice,
caution tunes be not swayed;
imprecations, future sore,
one diminishing race will be betrayed.

Universal harmony, that peace lost,
to the annals of our time;
quest in self, true conscious theme,
lest change cede proxime;
humankind’s hypnoetic pith,
truth’s freedom everyone’s regime;
survival guided not by popularity,
but through consensus ultime.

Treasure truthfulness laid bare,
its dried bones we now read;
actuality must become our norm,
ending subterfuge and greed;
beyond this simplistic belief,
each of our failures, we must concede;
transcendence through to truth’s nascency,
future’s virtue reseeds.

Hearth’s heat restores my conscience,
hand swung, pen en garde;
flickering shadows steel my brow,
truth’s insistence my bollard;
ignites past specters scourge,
white lies, receive truth’s collar;
inspirations writ proclaims,
truth’s treasure is, this gifted man of colour.

Michael Darrell Walker
Comment by Michael Darrell Walker on May 13, 2011 at 1:13am
oops, I did not realize that the comment format is this limited... Please visit my complete works by searching michaelw1two online...
Comment by Michael Darrell Walker on May 13, 2011 at 1:11am
Convoluted Legacy
(Harry, Ike, and John)

The waning world yet slowly turns,
around it’s blazing sun it sorely spins;
nation’s whim, turned alee again,
weakness trends, as wonting strife begins;
moment tossed in each mind’s torment,
crass ungraciousness, it grins within;
comes those horsemen, truth’s hatred reigns,
chaos, spews il’ Duce to death’s chagrin.

Internally, life weeps its loss,
past’s leaders great, mourn this steep demise;
conscience theft, splaying right denies,
goose step and heil, their sordid shill implies;
struggling sense, unconscious signs,
every common man, mulls fears unwise;
mightily though, this thought survives,
abidance cropped, lowly fools surmise.

Subconsciously mind lingers on,
one man we called “Give Em Hell Harry”;
oligarchs, then cogitative,
presently steer our course contrary;
court retort, what is ‘right’ off course,
‘their’ deep, hate’s crepe’, of “it” be wary;
nonfeasance, corporate “kempf’s” mean,
all else, is begged out virgin’s cherry!

Truman, stood strong for humane good,
yet his deeds and thoughts lay forgotten;
promoted trust in human’s minds,
stressed disgust for those misbegotten;
humanitarian his mean,
against all odds he fought men rotten;
tradition’s place, his soul response,
his bled ‘blood’, this nation’s church doctrine.

Mind’s memory, restores thought’s past,
of funeral dirge and rider less horse;
construct begun, upon time’s hone,
one’s choice or chance, denied fate’s outsource;
life’s mystery does eye deceive,
death’s hand so placed, becomes the marks main course;
essence serene, this lifetime’s gist,
once switched on, soul’s given vital force.

“IKE” Eisenhower stood above,
on blessed ground, this good ‘ole’ U.S.A.;
stressed strength in one’s singular deeds,
fore our nation this ideal conveyed;
humane designs of thought filled mind,
build up those beneath and truth obey;
valour of men; conquer one’s sins,
future’s step, leads on toward Judgment’s Day.

War’s end, the tune of present’s doom,
against time all battles ebb and flow;
strife freed, deceit implies life’s grief,
“IKE’s’ grasp, denied hate’s swift rise below;
signifying of mankind’s trends,
humankind’s weakness again bestows;
reproach in each of weak minds whims,
thought’s wicked scoffs, deviled quid pro quo.

As IKE said “we”; which truth implied,
“we are”, “we must”, “we want”, “we cannot”;
indecency, then unknown tine,
stooged paramours, neo-conned allot;
scrags leaden weight, around each neck,
forced minds, smooth grind slave holders crackpots;
democracy, now sure its end,
how could he sense, present time’s cruel thoughts.

“We”, implies social static’s howls,
death’s hounds, ‘rights’ slate, chaotic confound;
“We” cries, all see tea baggers scowls,
the ‘poor’ drowned, to filthy rich kowtow;
“We”, each reaps fiscal misery,
right wing games, “golden showered” chow;
mouchoirs, dripped in offspring’s blood,
‘our’ masses ‘feed’, fillet guts entrails’.

Men, no longer seek truth’s true path,
destroy, don’t build, ‘pull down’ costs, impasse;
enjoined silence, by laws rules quash,
personal will, all of substance crass;
equivalent mean; dishonesty,
“privileges” over “principles”, surpassed;
moralities nixed, all thoughts cast,
future’s confect, civics’ flait en masse.

Ike’s sense, truth’s ‘Reich’, freedom’s sole choice,
produce esteem, our nation’s goodwill;
dream meant, breathe life’s valued thrills,
profit’s bitters tear, for death distilled;
national ton
Comment by Procomicdiva on April 5, 2011 at 6:01pm



I stuffed the last french fry in my mouth,

slid off the stool and started dancin.

The juke box wailed behind me keeping rythm.

 "Over heah! sistah" a voice spoke out.

 "C'mon girl get yoah dancing feet on!"

I began to twist, cause Chubby Checker

tole me to.


My little legs gyratin and my hips popping.

""Go on girl!' another voice, this one from a

big ole black man with a yella straw hat.


 He looked like Santa Claus, with his big belly,

but he smelled like cigars, and Santa don't smoke.

"C'mon!" he said, clappin his hands to the beat.

"Let me see you shake it like your sistah Kate."

But I kept on dancin my way,
cause I didn't have no sistah Kate,

just a brother named Billy.

Only he don't like it when you call em that.

"Call me Bill," he would say. "Cause I'm a man!"

"You ain't no man! You a boy!" I said,
and he doubled up his fist and hit me,

cause he saw daddy do that to another man for callin him boy.

Chubby Checker kept singin and I kept dancin, twistin all the way
to the ground, like a screw driver was in the top of my head.

Down to the floor and all the way back,

cause I was double jointed and my knees could take it.

"Shake it l'il mama" another voice shouted

and I wished I had on this dress I seen in a movie.

This dress with all these strings hanging from it,

momma called em fringes.

"Could I have a dress like that?"

"When you grow up you can."

"A red one mama?!"

"Any color you like" she smiled.

She stood by the juke box holding the last bit of my hamburger.

Billy kept trying to take it n she slapped his hand,

his face drooped and he sat there pouting his lip hangin down

far e'nuff to trip over.

The bus driver let out a big burp just as the music faded away.
"All aboard ya'll."

Mama stretched out her hand. "C'mon baby time to go."

"Five minutes to load up," the driver hollered,

headin out the door.

Mama reached over to put some change on the counter,

but the man in the yella hat stopped her.

"No ma'am you saves yoah change."

He put down the price of our meals on top of the check.

"Heah now ya'll give this to the l'il lady,

whooiee chile but you shoah can dance."

He handed mama a crisp five dollah bill American,

smiling a crooked grin around his cigar.

Then like the pied piper done blew his flute,

One by one folks stepped up and handed mama some money,

smiling down at me as they shuffled on by.

"Ten, twenty, thirty," she counted.

"You wanna put it in your purse"

"No mama save it for my dress"

"Any color you like" she smiled.

Comment by Procomicdiva on April 5, 2011 at 5:54pm

Uh Huh....


Yes I suppose I do look the sort

Who may be in need of a man's attention

And true I did smile beguilingly when your drink was set before me.

 "A drink for the lovely lady" you tipped the waiter to say.

The smile was for his delivery,

The toss of his head over his shoulder pointing you out behind him,

The subtle roll of his eyes as he turned back and looked into mine so much said with so little.

 I raising my drink to my lips sent you a silent cheer

to which you took as your cue to come my way,

Such clever lines you began to spout as the love affair began.

No not I with you, but I am sure you were falling in love with the sound of your own voice, so melodic mellifluous, self assured in your delusions.

Perhaps it was the implied notion that I was some how lucky

Nay, privileged to have such attentions from you,

Should count myself lucky to be noteworthy enough,

to be of interest enough, for you to spend not just the $3.50 for the brandy, but the effort in walking the five or six feet to my table

where you as I said, regaled me with tales of your charmed life.

 At the bottom of my third brandy, I saw you smile with the glint of imminent victory in your eyes as you cued the waiter for the bill.

Rising, you held out your arm, ahh such gallantry.

"Shall we" you whispered expectantly.

 Setting down my glass I leaned forward in contemplation

Hand to chin. My eyes raked you in "I think not" she said

Comment by Mr Ted Scarf on February 5, 2011 at 5:18pm

Be Safe!  .....................................................  by Ted Scarf


It took alot of lives, time and dignity to get here.

Typhoons, hurricanes, S-curves, chiccanes,

Earthquakes, carbombs, kamikaze, comicbook,

Khazikstan, karma sutra Hellapalooza

PsychoMichaelangelo paints the falling sky

Layers of black attack the Love Shack

Hate the nigga in you

Suppress the homo in you

Hide the weakness geekness or sweetness at all costs,

Lauren, LaCoste, Claiborne, Firstborn.

Fashion costs lots, but vanity is insatiable.

Drinking problem, gamble on.

Addicts cannot help ourselves until there is no choice.

Free will until the kill.

Don`t look back the past is bleak, the future wide open.

Anything can happen and it will. Eyes receive 360 degrees.

Peripheral blur, Grrrrrr-unt, said the runt.

Litterbox politics, ticked off professor picked off at 30 meters,

30 litres later talks like a wet piece of white bread

In a brushed aluminum precision toaster,

Don`t push it down unless you like lightening whitening the sky,




Comment by Brian Allossery on January 15, 2011 at 12:48am


That is a cool poem-


It is like your thoughts are clenched---------tightly-

Comment by Signe Miranda on December 27, 2010 at 11:56am

I just started a collaborative, group poem. Join in, add some lines; let's see where it goes.

Comment by Michael Darrell Walker on December 10, 2010 at 10:25pm
Living’s Plone

by Michaelw1two

Whispering’s screams unleash the stress;
an air awash with love’s tenders missed;
reach tried, through arm’s awry amiss;
in touched return of thought's resists’;
thorough conscience, time is stressed;
against life’s grains, our will’s trial insists;
thought’s humbling, bleeds the soul’s worn tears;
drowned cheeks surreal, wile, small talks remiss.

Eye’s fear the glance, of love’s requite;
yet, peer intense, to find comfort’s rest;
mull this, life’s past freed, of heart’s fears;
sought peace returns, to face worry’s tests;
love’s smite, so passé, two hearts rend;
what piece is claimed, through hers, or his bests;
smiles strained, in talking’s strings suppressed;
sweetened kiss, conceals one’s pride’s duress.

Breath’s hollow, dries tear’s loneliness;
moan’s works reminds, that time is truth’s staid;
deep, within these heart’s discontents;
reside these hot flames, which love once made;
health’s storms, now body’s weariness;
upon it turns, what mind’s bond forbade;
life missed, this call to cure now dropped;
groan’s pout pawned, soul’s turned, life’s twisted blade.

Words wait for lips that moisten minds;
round tongue’s twist, two soul's thoughts’, hope to find;
meaning’s mince, heart’s feasts that once thrived;
two swords fore loved, each one’s flesh divined;
bonding bloods, pours time’s passion’s pines;
between these ends’, two lives primed sublime;
trust’s brake, life’s stones apart so laid;
separations’ spend, love’s deaths sans minds.

Patent twins, blend both loves and hates,
one’s life, without these trends, fete time’s wastes;
pride’s link to humankind or beasts,
preyed here in hearts, with familiar's tastes;
flesh, this touch far beyond life’s end,
through hunger’s lusts, living’s fill, fate’s spice;
decay’s release, then belies youth
as love’s last stage, proved one life’s reproach.

Returned through yearns, spine’s heat, heart’s juice,
pair's thirsts, denied love’s quenching embrace;
signs, ‘thousand sighs’ abound between,
smile and hiss astride, as loves replaced;
kneel then now, and bend, oh so low,
forehead to chin, your life’s lust's advise;
before time’s part and love’s demise,
be wise, misspeak sustains trusts’ trysts.

Relationships, dues part transcends,
life’s times, and memory’s loss, suspends;
thought’s run, apart yet joined within,
faced pair to face, cooed one’s shy commend;
which rue, souls’ sculptured consciousness,
mulled metes define, what love’s truth intends;
prove schemes, that bleed, through time’s sole realm,
lone witness, aye, greet life’s grief’s revenge.

Wandering’s mind, reviews time’s thoughts,
alone one stands, astride life’s square’s walled;
love’s past, misgive it’s conscious stretched,
of mien remand, jalouse stripe so-called;
forgive, between two sold worn hearts,
life’s clock tuned slow, this pair’s time appalled;
nothings once gained, sustain loves’ strengths,
heart’s part, soul’s truths, ought's fault; life bawls.

Michael Darrell Walker
Comment by Brian Allossery on December 3, 2010 at 4:24am
And So On

And son on-
and so on
and so on
and so on
ad so on and so

And so on
and so on
and so on
and so on
and so on and so on and so
On until the end of time-
And so on and so on and so on and son
And so on and so on and so on-
And so on and so on and so on and so on
And so on and so on and so on
And so on and so on and so on and so on and so on
And so on and so on=
Until the beginning of rhyme-
Comment by Brian Allossery on December 2, 2010 at 4:39pm
The Rival

The arrival of the rival
Threat to your survival
Coming out the 5 hole
Push you off the teat-

Eat the extra meat-
Play a better beat
Chase you down the street

Wait until you meet in the back alley- trade a beat
Beating on the head-
Wait until they said
Something unperfect
Then move in for the kill
Polish up your skill in your will
They will disappear
Sniper on the hunt
Never be upfront
Chase the mothers down
Make the seem a clown

Don't you stand for the arrival of the rival

Sucker them in
As long as you win
Do it with a grin
Again and again

The arrival of the rival
You know it's gonna be
A fight to the finish

The arrival of the rival
Lady it's Godival
Welcome to survival
Comment by MIchael Robins on November 26, 2010 at 11:57pm
Words flow out
because there's something within
that's love
that want's everyone to know
they are great
and have a divine date with a magnificent destiny
even if they are experiencing temporary insanity
and have forgot their eternal reality.

But while we're here
in this world of suffering.
imagination is a buffering force.

As soon as you have imagined
who you would like to be and how that would feel
you have begun to be on course
to let what's Real
create a new show,
but you must learn to
and continue to go
into the consciousness of fulfillment
and your intent
will manifest exactly as you want.

Test this truth
and use Neville's writings for support.
Don't be caught in the habit patterns
of thinking and doing the same thoughts and deeds
and expect to be freed
from a world you don't like or need.

Should you desire assistance in this direction,
I offer support and protection
Comment by Mr Ted Scarf on October 19, 2010 at 12:32pm
I drank too much of you.
Now I don`t have a clue.
What was I thinking?
I don`t even like drinking.
I don`t even like you,
or your crew.
Guess I was so thirsty,
I wasn`t picky.
Should`ve stuck with water,
it`s a real quencher.

You left a bad taste in my soul.
A bad taste, in my soul.
No flavour,
just a big hole.

Not exactly gourmet,
not even foreplay.
Just a gaping hole in my soul.
I could`ve drank my urine,
or a box of cheap wine.
But no,

You left a bad taste in my soul.
A bad taste, in my soul.
No flavour,
just a big hole.

It's a good thing I'm not bitter!
Comment by Vanessa C. Black on October 7, 2010 at 9:44am
And just like that the #Literature TT was gone on Twitter
Comment by Vanessa C. Black on October 7, 2010 at 9:36am
I have nothing but, words to give.
Comment by tarek bibi on October 6, 2010 at 2:28pm
poetry is my oxygen. its how i stay sane, it how i feel alive, its sharing my soul through words, its a way of connecting to others on a deep level, its a way to inspire change and transformation.
Comment by Mr Ted Scarf on October 5, 2010 at 8:07pm
Try not to smile, you`re not a picture‏
Check your attitude, put it in a spoon.
You`ll never feed yourself

by Ted Scarf



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